Light
by StarsAboveInMyEyes
Summary: Written for the Strange Obsession Challenge. Hermione thinks back to 1998 and the events of Malfoy Manor, reaping comfort from friends and certain familiar objects. Disclaimer: A wee bit of dialogue has been taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling. Rated for torture, but not graphic. Status: Complete.


_19 September, 2000._

Unbeknownst to most, Mr. Weasley was not the only one in the Burrow who harboured a strange obsession, although admittedly, his collection of plugs, batteries, and other such trinkets was larger than any other in Britain's wizarding world. No, deep within the walls of the tall and rickety house, surrounded by enchanted candles and lovingly holding a book in her hands, sat a certain bushy-haired girl, curled up on her bed as warm light danced around her. It was a little known fact that Hermione Granger was obsessed with candles.

Indeed, she'd been beyond surprised to learn how _vintage_, for lack of a better word, the wizarding world was when she'd first entered it. Never before had she expected herself to someday read in the shadowy light of moth-attracting gas lamps, talk through letters whisked away by owls, blot sheafs of parchment with quills dipped in ink, or not travel by car for months on end. Despite those unanticipated quirks however, going to Hogwarts still remained one of the best things to ever happen to her. And so, as she sat in a fluffy beanbag on the morning of her twenty-first birthday, Hermione couldn't help but enter a trance like state while she re-read _Hogwarts: A History_ for the tenth time.

Unsurprisingly, she could still remember the reactions she'd had a decade ago when she'd read the book for the first time on her eleventh birthday. She'd just returned from Diagon Alley laden with leather-bound books, quills, parchment, ink pots, a telescope, and Potions kit, not to mention the thin and springy wand hidden within her favourite brown satchel that she'd slung across her shoulder.

_"Hermione, dear," her Mum said as the beaming girl excitedly began unpacking her many books. "Don't stay up too late. I know you're excited but that's no excuse to skive off of sleep. I trust you'll be in bed in an hour?"_

_"Yes, Mum," the little witch practically squealed, nodding enthusiastically as she picked up a thick hard-cover book emblazoned with the school crest and the name _Hogwarts: A Histor_y in bold black letters. As her Mum exasperatedly shook her head (to hide her proud smile, that is) and closed the door, Hermione tentatively looked around her bedroom before opening the book right through the middle and taking a long whiff._

_"Ahhh," she sighed, lost in the beloved scent of inky pages, propping it open in her lap and reading through the hour. She could already feel her heart thundering at the prospect of going to Hogwarts, mind racing with anticipation and fresh knowledge._

Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin_, the book read, naming each of the four founders in alphabetical order. The idea that four great and powerful friends had joined hands and minds many centuries ago to form a lasting and outstanding institution for magical education, all while keeping it a secret from the non-magical populace (Muggles, the book called them) baffled Hermione but she kept on reading anyway; there was still so much she didn't know after all. She wondered how it must've felt to be among the first ever batch of Hogwarts students, being chosen and taught by the Founders themselves. _What sort of uniforms must they have worn, _Hermione thought, making a mental note to immediately search for books about the early students when she got to Hogwarts._

_But it wasn't until she'd reached the chapter describing Hogwarts did she _truly _feel her longing to go to the magical school increase, the description of the large and welcoming Great Hall glueing her eyes to the page and chasing away any thoughts of sleep she might've had an hour ago._

An enchanted ceiling that always resembled the sky outside?_ No way!_ A House points-counter that used precious gems?_ Wow!_ Plates and goblets of glimmering gold that filled with food and drink at mealtimes?_ Brilliant! _Hundreds of floating candles that neither dripped wax nor reached their end blazing in mid-air? _"How?" She almost shrieked, although the thought didn't occupy her mind as much as the others did that night when she tried (and failed) to fall asleep._

Smiling faintly, Hermione reminisced in her whimsical memory of entering the Great Hall for the first time, staring wide-eyed and disbelievingly at the wondrous sight before her, mentally cheering and jumping up and down as the tall figure of Professor McGonagall led them to the front of the four House tables where a rickety stool stood, wearing the most frayed and patched hat she'd ever seen.

She giggled lowly at the image of the old stool adorning the legendary Godric Gryffindor's hat, the Sorting Hat, realising that despite reading as many books as she could've gotten her little hands on, she hadn't read a word about the Hat and had wondered anxiously if she would have to pull flowers out of it. But as it came to be, Hermione Granger was no longer eleven years old now, and those fond memories happened to be only part of the reason why she so obsessively hoarded candles and only read in candlelight. No, the reason for her infatuation came from much less fond and cheery memories, the dark scars marring her mind never quite going away, no matter how faded and unnoticeable they had become. She crinkled her nose as she vaguely sensed herself flashing to the year 1998, back to the events of her less than pleasant sojourn at Malfoy Manor.

*

_Another scream ripped through her lungs, scorching her dry windpipe and widening her streaming eyes. "CRUCIO!" Bellatrix Lestrange towered over her trembling figure, her shrieks almost drowning out Ron's voice as he yelled something incoherent, sounding more desperate than ever as Bellatrix cursed her yet again._

_"WHERE DID YOU GET IT, YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD? WHERE DID YOU GET IT?"_

_She'd hardly taken a breath before the pain hit her again, electrocuting her nerves and sending needles jabbing into her receptors. Writhing on the ground, she screamed again._

_'It's a copy! It's fake!' Hermione heard the words in her head but couldn't say them, not when her mind was muddled and her tongue felt like lead and the voices in her head were all screeching, clawing desperately for a way to escape her mind..._

_"CRUCIO!" The curse whipped her and she wondered how Harry had managed to stay sane after experiencing it in the Third Task, screaming in agony as the thought of Harry pierced her heart like an icy dagger. Bellatrix lifted the curse for a fleeting moment and Hermione grabbed the opportunity,_

_"It's fake!" She managed to choke out, recoiling internally at how _weak_ and _broken _her voice sounded. But Bellatrix __seemed to not have heard. "How did you get inside my vault? Did the__ dirty little Goblin in the cellar help you?" she screamed maniacally. Hermione shook her head. "We only met him tonight!" She sobbed. Through the blur of tears streaming down her face she saw Bellatrix stiffen and ploughed on. "We've never been inside your vault... it isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"_

_"A copy_?_" the gaunt woman screeched as Hermione breathed weakly, inhaling and exhaling with little purpose, feeling utterly powerless as she cowered__ on the cold stone floor._

_"Fake," she heard herself muttering, shivering and shaking weakly as the feeling of being futile and stupid choked her again._

_'I'll never truly be part of this,' she thought as Bellatrix strutted away, demanding to see the goblin Lucius Malfoy had gone to fetch. __A resigned sort of dread had settled over her, smudging her senses and the critical thinking skills she'd valued oh-so-much, not knowing, at that time, that they weren't half as worthy in the wizarding world. __'They will never accept me.' Hermione couldn't bring herself to feel anything, not even hatred, as her tormentor turned to glance at her, giving her a look of deepest disgust and loathing._

_"Mudblood," Bellatrix spat the slur at her, __slashing her wand in the air with a harsh _Diffindo! _Hermione flinched as a thin gash appeared across her waist, gasping faintly with pain. Blood seeped through the fabric of her shirt as her vision slowly cleared, eyes parched from pain and her stinging tear ducts. She tried to forget who she was in that minute, the witch, the Mudblood, the inquisitive schoolgirl, choosing instead to lose her self in thoughts about Harry and Ron, hoping feebly that they'd get away__ somehow, escape before the man whose name she hadn't dared to say for five years showed up and skewered them all._

_The last thing she saw before she blacked out was a crystal chandelier, glimmering beautifully from the flaming candles in its holsters; a drip of wax reached the edge, the droplet shaking from the gravity of its position. And then it fell, and Hermione felt it solidify in the air as it dropped on her cheek, right before all went dark._

*

_It took her a while to regain consciousness, but it happened nonetheless as the dark dungeon came back into focus, the eerie elegance of the place concealing its hideous horrors and sins. Pain pulled and stretched every fibre of her body and she shivered, dully wishing for nothing more than to be in her parents' arms as they held and comforted her. There was a lull of harsh murmuring voices and Hermione tried to make out what they were saying when - out of nowhere - the rough hands of Bellatrix Lestrange coiled around her and she stumbled on her feet, going limp as a rag doll when she felt a knife at her throat. __Pinpricks of blood pierced her neck, staining her thoughts and skin through Bellatrix's razor sharp and claw-like grip._

_"STOP OR SHE DIES!" the Death Eater bellowed, eyes wide and mad as they hovered around the dungeon._

_Hermione's ears rang and she thought miserably that this was the end; she would die in this cellar, the last place to ever experience her impure presence. The seconds passed in a haze as she fell in and out of consciousness, blinking blearily through the sharp stings in her body. She wondered where Ron and Harry were; had they escaped? She didn't think so, she'd probably be dead if they had ..._

_Hermione realised that Bellatrix was still clutching her head up and vaguely noted th__at the edge of the small knife was slicing shallowly into her skin. The candles in the chandelier above her __were blown out, smoke curling up from the blackened wicks, and only one of them remained aflame as the object swayed gently. Her eyes stayed glued to the golden flame as it shook lightly, holding onto the image like a lifeline as happier times danced across her irises._

Hogwarts, Magic, Home.

_And it all came falling down, down, down ... the world faded into black again. It wouldn't come back into focus for a long time._

*

"Hey," Ron's warm voice interrupted Hermione's morose contemplation and she looked up, seeing him smile brightly as he balanced a tray in one hand, his other shutting the door behind him. She grinned.

"Hey back," she said as he dodged around her floating tea leaf scented candles and placed the tray on her sidetable, taking a cup of tea and a sugary biscuit as he sat next to her. "Sugar cookies!" She said, grabbing one and happily taking a sizeable bite.

"Yeah, I made them last night while everyone was asleep," Ron told her, a rare hint of pride in his voice as Hermione beamed at him and took another from the plate beside her. She thanked him and he shrugged his shoulders, but she could see the unmistakable Weasley blush creeping up his neck.

"That reminds me," he began nervously, looking up at her as he reached for his pocket. "I got something for you. It's not the _birthday gift_ I got you per se, but I thought you'd like it and extra gifts never hurt anyone so ..." He pulled out a tiny paper box and gave it to her, eyeing her expectantly.

Hermione took a sip of tea and the small show of sentiment and gingerly pulled off the lid of the box. Inside was a tightly woven but elegant gold chain with what looked like a glass orb hanging from it. She held the locket up to the light of window and it shimmered delicately.

"It's a Memory Orb," Ron explained, watching her eyes scan the locket in the way they did whenever she discovered something that required explaining. "It opens when you tap it with your wand and you can place a memory inside it. It's simple, really, but it helped me cast a Patronus last month when I was surrounded by that large horde of Dementors up north on a mission." He remembered the crippling cold and their rattling breath, the lost and hopeless look in Harry's eyes as they got closer and closer to having their souls sucked out. Shuddering, Ron shook it off, reminding himself that Harry was fine now and so was he, focusing instead on Hermione as she eyed the charm with fondness.

"Thanks, Ron," she said. Eyes, shining, Hermione smiled serenely at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "It means a lot." And she tapped the orb open before pushing the tip of her wand to the side of her bushy head, a string of silvery memory coming with it as she pulled it away. The memory rolled up inside the tiny glass ball and it shut itself, sealing the moment of joy inside. Hermione pulled the chain over her head and around her neck, gently grazing the thin scar on her throat from where Bellatrix had held the knife that would later put their friend, Dobby, to rest. The two watched in silence as the memory unfolded before them, three children laughing joyously as the green and silver hangings around them changed to red and gold, engulfed in a tide of hugs and handshakes as Gryffindor won the House Cup, cheering loudly in the bright yellow candlelight of the Great Hall ...

*


End file.
